by Black, D. S.
She saw a boy with a varsity jacket, and suddenly a memory jolted in her mind.
Her hair was curled that night. A warm breeze blew her twirls around, and Larry Splat was there. He was a thin and wiry boy that played basketball. His hair was always slicked back like something out of Grease. His girlfriend, Cherry Baker stood holding his thin arm. She was a large girl, over two hundred twenty pounds, and smart as they come, “Yep! I’m headed to Presbyterian on a full academic scholarship. Got the acceptance letter today,” she said, and smiled with huge white teeth.
“I always knew you would go far girl,” Candy said.
“What about you? Still gonna take Criminal Justice at Horry Community?”
Some fireworks popped in the not so far distance, somewhere on the sandy beach. “Yep, it’s my calling.” The sky was a dark blue hue, and the sun was setting.
A light summer wind blew, and the smell of salt and suntan lotion lingered in the air. “What about you?” Candy asked Larry.
“PC of course. Me and my girl’s gonna be together forever,” he said and reached over, kissing her sunburned cheek. “Full athletic scholarship. My momma always told me my long legs would come in handy. What about you, Jody boy?”
Jody stood off to the side with a shy red look on his face. “Oh, I don’t know … all I’m good at is fixin’ broken toilets,” he said.
“And you are the best plumber this side of Horry County babe,” Candy said as she grabbed his arm and pulled him over to her. “And the sexiest!”
More fireworks crackled, the sun disappeared, and bright stars shined against a black canopy. Tourists walked past them in small droves, entering the store, coming out with bags of fireworks. It was the beginning of the tourist season; something the locals both loved and hated. The salty air was now mixed with the smell of the explosive black powder as the wind carried it off the beach. The sounds of children’s laughter, and the crunch of the gravel shot by them as little boys and girls ran for the beach. A parent shouted for them to slow down and wait.
Larry and Cherry excused themselves, and headed into the store. “Get one of the big packets, would ya?” Jody shouted. Larry turned and shot him a thumb up. Candy stood with Jody, their hands connected and pulsating against each other. She looked at him, and his eyes stared back longingly.
“Baby…” he bent to one knee, “will you marry me?” He slid his high school ring over her finger. It was much too big for her, but she still thought it was a sweet thing. Her fat man was one big jiggly romance.
She stared at him and chuckled, then said: “We just graduated a month ago … now you want to get married?”
His fat face squished in like he sucked on a sour lemon, or like an angry child, “Dammit woman! Don’t foul up the mood with a bunch of talk. Just say…”
She pressed her lips against his, then pulled away after a few moments. “Yes! I will marry you, my sweet, fat man!”
5
The world around her returned. Jody was gone; Larry and Cherry were gone. The smell of fireworks was gone, the stench of death, and the pounding of dead hands on her windshield told her that life was over. That world was gone, never to return. Those days that were filled with laughter, sandy beach nights, warm fires, and friendly embraces were replaced by death’s hot summer breath and bone-chilling winters that froze more than just bone, but soul and passion itself. She felt the tears streaming down her cheeks. A horde now surrounded the Hummer. Their dead faces staring in at her, wanting her flesh, her hot blood.
She pressed the gas, and forced the horde out of the way; they fell like bowling pins. She stared into the rearview, and saw the boy in the varsity jacket reaching out toward her. Who had he been? Just a happy high school boy looking forward to summer, feeling anxious about his upcoming freshman year at college. What would he have done with his life had the Fever not come? Who would he have married? How many kids would they have had? Would they have settled down here in Horry County? Raising their kids to repeat the cycle of American dreams all over again?
She pushed the mirror down, and forced herself to stare at the road ahead. Her mind was shutting down to the Old World morality. Her thoughts grew increasingly dark and sinister; she was slipping deeper and deeper, losing empathy for all people.
She continued down 17. To the right, a sign read ENTERING MURRELLS INLET. The green trees swayed with the wind on either side of the road. The road was straight and even, up ahead the sight of a CVS came into view. Candy slowed to a crawl; she needed antibiotics, that's why she was out here. Jack might be dead already for all she knew, but if she could save his life, she would by any means necessary. Then she saw the people. At first, she thought they had to be zombies, but zombies don't run like that.
A man, woman, and kids were running inside the store. Candy crept the Humvee a little closer, parking it against the curb. They hadn't seen her. She exited, closing the door softly, and stepped over the concrete curb onto hot grass, her boots making shallow imprints. She saw no sign of the dead—a small miracle if there ever was one.
Ahead, steam rose off the black asphalt parking lot creating a foggy mist. Her boots clicked, clicked, clicked against the ground. Her right hand gripped the revolver’s handle. Her left arm rose, and her hand lowered the hat’s brim barely showing her piercing eyes. Her face was hard and stern. Her girls were gone, her Jody was gone, her Papa was gone. The rights, and the wrongs of the Old World no longer existed for her. Kill or be killed; that’s all she thought as she moved in on the family.
Her legs moved precisely with her heels touching the ground with each step. Her right hand rested over her revolver while she approached the couple now coming out of the store, holding what looked like a bag of medicine. “What’s in the bag?”
A woman wearing a torn dress with blood-stained yellow polka dots stared at her with a fearful glance. “Get over here girls! Who are you?” the woman asked. Two girls grasped the backs of their mother’s legs and clung tightly, their frail bodies quivering.
“Listen now. We don’t have anything for you,” said the man, as he stepped in front of his family. “I’ll shoot you, I mean it!” he said.
Candy stared at the man’s pulsating brown eyes; he was scared. The barrel of his gun trembled with the involuntary shaking of his hand.
“Don’t do that,” Candy said.
“Do what?”
“Please just leave us alone! Why are you looking at us like that?”
The two girls peered around their parents, their small knees trembled. “Please don’t hurt us, lady.”
Candy didn’t move. Her breathing was rhythmic and smooth, and her stare never left the man pointing the gun.
The old woman spoke, “Just listen, would ya? We need that medicine for our little girl. She’s got an infection. Couldn’t you help us? Isn’t there any good left in ya? You don’t look so bad… we could help each other.”
“Antibiotics?” Candy asked. Her face was a grim shadow under the brim of her hat.
“You can’t have it! We maybe can spare a little food, but we can’t…”
Candy drew her revolver, aimed for the husband’s forehead, and squeezed the trigger. His brains flew backward, and covered the two little girls and their mother. The mother’s face cringed while she pushed her kids behind her. “My God, please! NOOOO—”
The next shot split the woman’s head in two. The two little girls held each other, and crawled into a fetal position, and hid their faces. Candy’s footsteps marched slowly up to them, and her shadow overcast their shuddering bodies. They were crying, shivering with fear. It was raining again, a thick shower falling from the dark gray sky.
Two more shots rang out, and the little girls went limp; their dead bodies two colorful lumps against the black asphalt.
In the car, a child screeched loudly. Candy reached down, and picked up the bag of medicine. The black asphalt creaked underneath her boots; the rain now poured out of the heavens, hard and strong; lightning crackled and lit the eastern
sky. She moved with precise steps, heel to toe, heel to toe, and then hovered over the back-seat window. Her shadow moved up the side of the car, darkening the screaming infant. The squeals became louder as she pulled the door open; the door ajar alarm dinged and dinged. Pictures of laughing children and smiling parents were stuck against the back of the front seat’s head rest. The infant continued to bellow.
Beside the baby was another small bag of medicine. Candy picked it up, and put it into the larger bag she held, and then stared down at the child. The baby’s cheeks were red, and tears streamed down like rain. It wiggled helplessly in the baby seat. Candy’s lip snarled, she picked up a pillow resting beside the child’s seat, pressed it over the baby’s face and pushed down hard.
A few moments later, the child stopped crying. She removed the pillow, revealing a blue dead infantile face; she removed a short knife clipped to her leather belt, and stared at the blade. A break in the dark clouds beamed a ray of sun which reflected into Candy’s eyes. She laid the bag on the seat, and with her left hand she pushed the dead child’s head to the side, and pushed the blade into the soft temple. She picked up the bag, and left the door open; the door ajar alarm chimed as she walked over to the dead man and removed his revolver from his death grip. She opened the chamber, and smiled while she spun six empty holes.
6
Driving back towards the swamp, the sky dark and menacing, a light rain still pouring against the windshield, and a cool wet breeze flowing through her hair, Candy stared blankly. In the back, voices whispered “Mama why? Why did you kill those people?” Candy’s body jumped, and she looked over her shoulder with a fast jerk. Nothing! She continued to drive.
“You didn’t have to do that, Mama.” Candy slammed her foot on the brake, bringing the Humvee to a screeching halt. Her bosom heaved while she closed her eyes. “It isn’t real.”
“Mama, look!”
Candy opened her eyes, and stared at her two little girls in the rear-view mirror. She blinked, then blinked again, but they still sat there staring back at her. A foggy mist enveloped their bodies, and they were transparent with parts of the back seat showing through. “You’re not real,” she said.
“You didn’t have to kill that baby. Why’d you do it? Mama, can’t you hear us?” The girls spoke in unison, like one voice. “Don’t look scared Mama. We can help you.”
Candy stared forward, and pressed the pedal down softly. The Hummer crept slowly down highway 17. A soft humming came from the back seat. Candy’s eyes began dripping.
“You remember that song, Mama? You loved it.”
“I do remember. I remember baby. Is this real? Can this be real?” Candy spoke with a cracked voice, and let her tears fall. “Are you really there?” She knew they were. She knew this wasn't a dream; this wasn't a hallucination. All those stories of paranormal sightings were true after all; she felt a cold shiver run up her spine.
“Why did you kill those people, Mama?”
“I … had … to. Jack needs the medicine, if I don’t save Jack…” she burst into more tears. She knew she didn’t have to kill them. Why had she done it? Who was she now? Just another murderer in a murderous world?
“You don’t always have to kill, Mama. Not everyone needs to die.”
She did not respond. An opening in the sky poured late afternoon sunlight into Candy’s eyes. The storm was passing, heading east over the Atlantic. She lowered the eye shade and focused her eyes forward.
She felt like a monster, a disgusting rabid animal. She’d killed an infant, and two girls no older than her girls had been. These thoughts would never leave her; it would darken every future triumph. Why hadn’t she done something else? Why did she have to kill them? Had her mind really slipped this far into insanity? If so, could she come back? Could she regain some semblance of mental stability?
“Don’t worry, Mama! We will keep you on track!” The two girls slapped their palms together in celebration. “We’ll make sure only the bad guys die.”
“My babies. This ain’t possible.”
The girls began humming that soft melody again, a song for the dead. Candy’s eyes softened, and her pulse slowed. Her grip on the steering wheel relaxed, her breathing slowed to a steady rhythmic pace.
Candy spoke flatly, “Everything is okay now.”
(murderer!)
“Everything will be just fine.”
(baby killer!)
“I have my girls again. It is real, they are real. Everything is okay now, everything will be just fine. I’m going to go meet Andrew now. Everything's perfectly fine.”
She drove down highway 17, back toward the swamps. Her mind rested as the wind drifted through open windows. No music played, only the soft hum of the girls in the back seat; their voices were hypnotic.
She finally reached the road leading back to the pontoon boat. The sun was lowering, and dark shadow covered the marshes. Thick humidity still dampened the air, and the smell of gas and vegetation stank.
The Humvee rumbled to a halt. She climbed out, and slammed the door behind her. She walked over to the edge of the water. The boat was dragged onto the edge of the marsh. Just outside the boat, a red and white cooler lay. The lid was knocked open, and dead fish had fallen out. Drag marks dug into the wetland. She followed the drag marks with her eyes, her feet dipped into the soft earth as she followed the trail. The trees wrapped around her, and swallowed her with dark shadows.
“Mama.”
“Yes, baby?”
“This might get ugly.”
“I know baby. The whole world's ugly.”
(murderer!)
(baby killer!)
She moved through ancient cypress trees while her boots left imprints, and sweat dripped from her face. The hot rotting vegetation left a gassy smell. “If I have you, girls everything will be okay.”
(notthekidsyoukilled!)
She reached a clearing a few miles into the boggy wilderness. The trees were cut out in a circle. In the middle, an old shack sat. It was made of rusted metal. Vines and green foliage covered its exterior. She lifted her leg, but stopped it from moving forward. The path before her was made of whitish gray broken human bones. Thick grass and vegetation covered the rest of the yard. Gray smoke rose from a nearby grill, she took a deep breath, and sprinted forward.
7
A few hours earlier.
Andrew spoke softly to himself. “The whole world is on fire, the whole planet might not make, but here I am fishin and that’s all that matters to me today. Day by day is the way we live. Smile, and be happy to be here catching the fish for the day.” A tear dribbled down his face. “Yep! Just another day in paradise, another day. Papa’s gone...” He sniffed hard, and shook his head. “Keep on marchin Andy. Yep! That's what I'll do, Papa. Keep on fishin too, I’ll catch us some good ones today.” He looked up into the blue sky, a cool wind blew against his face. The buzz of flying insects surrounded him like moving black shadowed clusters. Dark trees surrounded him. He'd found a calm section of the long river; the dark water was still around him He heard a rustle in the darkness, crunching sticks. “All sorts of life still out there, plenty of folks left in this world; plenty of good people, plenty of bad people. Just another day on this old blue globe.”
He'd never been known for his smarts; he wasn't dumb, but he'd never been much for reading books. He liked working with his hands, if he tried to read a book his attention just wouldn't hold.
His line caught, and he reeled in a fish. He grabbed the line, and hoisted the slippery creature into the boat slapping it hard against the floor, then placed it in a red and white cooler. “That’s one. I need a lot more than one. God knows how long we’ll last in this place, what if a hurricane comes? How will I know? I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.” The water rippled from a sudden sharp wind, he closed his eyes for a moment. “Just fine. Everything is going to be okay.” Another fish tugged on the line and Andrew jerked it in, slapped it hard on the boat’s metal, and put it in the red
and white cooler.
The breeze was warm, and the humidity thick. The sounds of breaking twigs came from somewhere in the woods. He laid on his back and stretched his legs out, allowing the sun to cook his face while he listened to the rustle. His eyes stared blankly at the darkening sky, a storm was coming. Might be a nasty one.
His mind drifted.
Andrew played Left for Dead on PS4. He was never good at video games, though he did enjoy playing them. Mostly with Randy Jackson, his best friend.
“I'm motha fuckin Randy GODDAMN JACKSON! BITCH!” Randy held his arms up in victory. He'd just blasted the head off a zombie. This one; however, was on the PS4 and the Fever was years away. For all these boys knew, the world would remain one of video games, no sex, and a lot of weed smoke forever and always—Randy's room was a high school loser's sanctuary.
Andrew sat at a wide double screen, playing side by side. The smell of weed in the air, a small fan blowing to his left. No troubles; none at all. The world was just fine that day.
“FUCK!” Andrew said as his character's head splattered.
“You suckin donkey dick, SON!” Randy liked saying donkey dick, it was his favorite thing to say.
Taking on Randy Jackson's online team never worked out. Andrew played on a team of complete strangers; Randy's team played the last two years together, nearly every day—Novy, Randy Jackson, Detective John Kimble, and Foulslut. Andrew had a hard time understanding how, Randy could spend so much time playing with people he'd never met in real life; but Randy always referred to them as friends, not making a distinction between the virtual world, and the real world.